


It Had to be You

by mrsyt31



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31/pseuds/mrsyt31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The first time we met, we</i> hated <i> each other."</i><br/><i>"No, you didn't hate me. I hated</i> you <i>."</i><br/>A <i>When Harry Met Sally</i> AU, written for the reel_1D fic challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Had to be You

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me almost six months to complete, and it is also the single longest, complete fic I have ever written. I'm still convinced that Cass came up with the idea for this fest just to force me to finish it. Thanks and big love go out to estrella30 and prplhez8 for pre-reading, to coolbreeze_ for the beta, and to magog83 for the britpick. And as always, huge love and thanks to my sister from another mister, badjujuboo(miztrezboo), for her never ending support and encouragement. Because, let's be real, this never would have been written if it weren't for her!!
> 
> I've changed the age gap between Harry and Nick just a bit to fit the story. Also, there are quite a few bits of real life events thrown in, but I've also taken a lot of liberties. None of the characterizations reflect my personal opinions on any real person mentioned. This is based on one of my all-time favorite movies, and I'm really glad to be able to share it with all of you.

**It Had to be You**

 

1\. Holmes Chapel, 2008 (Harry is 18, Nick is 24)

 _"The first time we met, we_ hated _each other."_  
_"No, you didn't hate me. I hated_ you _."_

Harry Styles has spent most of his life in the quiet village of Holmes Chapel. It’s a lovely place, really, but nothing ever _happens_ there. His mum has always told him he’s destined for great things, but he doesn’t think that’s possible if he stays. He wants to make music, and has even tried to convince his friend, Will, that they should move their band to London and really _try_ for a record deal. But the others all want to stay closer to home, seeming happy to continue playing gigs at college parties and bah mitzvahs. Not Harry, though. He applies to three different universities in and around London with the goal of studying music, and when the acceptance letters arrive in the post (and of course they do, because he's always been an excellent student), he chooses one that will put him right in the heart of the city. He’s ready for his life to start.

September comes in a flurry of packing, deciding what makes the journey to London and what stays behind in his childhood bedroom. He doesn’t need much, really, and before he knows it, it’s almost time for him to leave. 

His mum has arranged for him to travel down with the brother of a friend, who is headed back to London from Manchester. Harry doesn’t really know anything about this bloke, other than he’s just gotten a job as a DJ, and he’s a few years older than Harry. His mum has assured him that he’ll be perfectly fine, and that they’ll be down to visit him in a few weeks when Robin, his mum's fiancé, has a break from work.

They’re saying goodbye on the front drive when the beat up old Volvo pulls up in front of his house, the driver laying on the horn as if he’s been waiting ages instead of mere seconds. “I love you, my sweet baby,” his mum says, smiling through her tears and kissing him on the lips. “Be safe and we’ll see you soon.”

She leans toward the car and says, “Nick Grimshaw, this is my son, Harry. I expect you’ll take _very_ good care of him for me.”

“Morning, mate,” Nick answers with a grin. “Nice to meet you. And I promise, Annie, that I will deliver him safe and sound.”

Harry stows his bags in the boot of the Volvo and walks around the side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat. He gives his mum one last wave, and then they are off. 

“So, young Harold, tell me all about yourself.”

“Well,” Harry says. “For starters, my name isn’t Harold. It’s just Harry.”

“Alright then, _just Harry_ , tell me about your life.” 

Harry shakes his hands through his hair, brushing it forward, and then sweeping the front out of his eyes. “What’s there to tell?” he asks. “Nothing’s happened to me yet. That’s why I’m going to London.”

"You're going to London so something will happen to you? Rather cliche, don't you think?" The way Nick says it makes Harry feel like a small child, and also rather defensive. 

"Well," he huffs indignantly. "Can't exactly hang around my mum's for the rest of my life, now can I?"

"No, I don't suppose that would make for a very sexy story, would it?"

Nick tells Harry all about his life in London. The people he’s met, the friends he’s made there. He tells Harry about the pretty young boys he’s slept with and about the clubs he goes to nearly every night, and Harry’s never really met anyone who is just so _open_ and unashamed about who he is. Nick is brash and _loud_ and has opinions on everything from the Royal family to the color of Harry’s t-shirt, and Harry’s a little bit in awe of him, even if he’s not sure he likes him all that much.

Nick is sort of everything Harry wishes he could be, unapologetic in a way that Harry’s not sure he could pull off. 

“So is there someone special in your life, _just Harry_? A girlfriend? Boyfriend, perhaps?” It sounds teasing, the way Nick says it, but Harry can tell he’s actually curious.

“Neither,” he answers thoughtfully. “I mean, I had a girlfriend for a while in sixth form, but I’ve never really had a chance to have a boyfriend. Not a lot of opportunities for me in that area in the village. Fooled around a bit with a mate on holiday last year, but it wasn’t anything very serious.” He can feel the weight of Nick’s stare, and he wishes the bloody light would turn so they could _go_ already because he knows he must be red as a beet right now. He’s never really talked with anyone about his sexuality, and he’s suddenly very nervous.

“Bisexual, then?” Nick asks casually.

“Not really, no.”

“So which is it then? Boys or girls?”

“Both? I don’t know, I’ve never really given it much thought, to be honest. I just like who I like. Gender doesn’t matter all that much to me.”

Nick is chewing his lip, his brow furrowed and he obviously has something he wants to say. He manages to hold it in until they stop for petrol in the next town when he says, “So, is that like, pansexual or something?” Harry just shrugs because, really, he’s never thought about labels. But Nick’s brain must be working overtime, because he starts in again and doesn’t seem likely to stop talking anytime soon. 

“I’ve never understood how that works, like, how is that a thing that exists? It’s always been cut and dry for me. I like dick. End of story. But to not care whether there’s a bird or a bloke in your bed? I don’t know. It just sounds like a bloody good excuse to shag whomever you like and damn the consequences, know what I mean?” He’s looking at Harry like he expects an answer, but Harry doesn’t have one to give, so he just keeps on talking. 

“It’s a good thing you’re a Uni student, young Harold, because I only shag models these days. With my luck, we’d fuck and I’d fall arse over teakettle for you. You’d turn around and marry some bird like all the bisexual boys do, and _then_ where would we be? Nope, there is absolutely no sense in us trying to be friends, because then I would just want to shag you, and we _both_ know how that would turn out.”

None of what Nick just said makes much sense to Harry, but he shrugs it off and says, “It’s too bad you feel that way. You were the only person I knew in London. Would have been nice to have a friend there already.”

The rest of the journey is fairly quiet, and before he knows it, Nick is pulling up to the curb in front of Harry’s residence halls. He helps Harry unload his bags from the boot of the Volvo and they stand there awkwardly for a moment, until Nick puts a hand out and says, “It was very nice to meet you. Best of luck to you, Harry Styles.”

Harry shakes his hand and replies,”You too, Nick. And thanks again for the lift.” 

Nick slides into the driver’s seat and waves as he drives away, Harry calling out, “Have a nice life!” 

 

2\. Manchester to London, 2010 (Harry is 20, Nick is 26)

 

 _"The second time we met you didn't even_ remember _me."_

"I did too. _I remembered you._ "

 

It's been one of the best summers Harry can remember. He's twenty years old and he's on his way to bloody _judges houses_ for the X-factor. He'd made the decision to audition after a long chat with his mum, who'd driven two hours to go with him for moral support. He hadn't been chosen as a solo act, but he and two other lads he'd met at boot camp, Liam and Niall, had been put into a group together. Even if nothing comes of it, they don't make it to live shows, well, it's still been the greatest experience he's had since moving to London, and not just because he has two new best mates and a chance at a real music career. It's partly _mostly_ because it also brought him to Louis.

Louis, who is currently in Harry's arms, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck while he explores every last corner of Harry's mouth with his tongue. It should be embarrassing, seeing as they are standing in the middle of a train station in Manchester, but Harry just can't be arsed to care. Not when his hands are full of Louis' ample bum, Louis' fingers toying with the curls at Harry's nape.

"Wish you were coming with me," Harry murmurs against his lips as Louis unwinds his legs from behind Harry's back and lets his feet hit the floor. Louis breathes a dramatic sigh and traces his index finger over the curve of Harry's lips. They'd met at the X-factor auditions, and while Harry had advanced, Louis hadn't made it through bootcamp.

"Though it's true, Simon Cowell doesn't know what he's missing, you needn't worry about me, Curly. I have footie practise starting in a few days to keep me busy." Louis plays for his uni in Manchester, and he's brilliant. Even Gemma was impressed when she found out her baby brother was seeing the team's star striker. "I _will_ , however, expect to hear from you while you're gone. Otherwise I might forget the sound of your voice, and we can't have that."

It's then that Harry notices a bloke, standing a few feet away, near _staring_ at them. Well, staring at Louis really. Harry breaks their kiss and taps Louis shoulder, trying discreetly to point to the observer. 

Louis turns slightly and the man smiles, puts his hand to his forehead and exclaims, "TOMLINSON! I thought that was you. You good, then? Headed back to uni?" And Harry realizes, belatedly, that he _knows_ this bloke. It's possible he's mistaken, but Harry's pretty sure he'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Harry, love, this is Nick Grimshaw. Nick, this is my boyfriend, Harry. I met Nick when I did my internship last spring at Radio 1." Nick shakes Harry's hand and resumes his catch up with Louis.

And, well. _This is awkward,_ Harry thinks. He can't believe Nick doesn't remember him. It's only been a couple of years, and while Harry's no longer the gangly teenager who hitched a lift to London, he doesn't think he looks _that_ different. Harry's not sure if he should be relieved or offended that he made so little of an impression.

But Louis and Nick are saying goodbye and any thoughts Harry might have had of reminding Nick of that one time they spent a whole day trapped in a car together are quickly tamped down.

Nick grins at him curiously and says, “Nice to meet you, mate.” He turns and walks away, only glancing back once with a confused stare, as if he might know Harry from somewhere, but can’t quite place him still.

Harry’s still watching after Nick when he feels Louis’ arm slide around his waist. “You alright, love?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just going to miss you, is all.” He should probably just tell Louis about Nick, but if he really doesn't remember Harry, there doesn't seem much sense in it. It's not likely they'll ever see each other again, anyway. He pulls Louis close, allowing their lips to brush together once before resting his head on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, humming softly as he pulls back to look him in the eyes. “I’ll miss you, too, you know. I love you, Hazza.”

Harry looks up at Louis, searching his face for any trace of hesitation. They've not done this yet, the exchange of 'I love yous'. And yeah, maybe Harry's been thinking it for a while, just spent three days showing Louis around Holmes Chapel and introducing him to his family and friends. But.

"I love you too," he replies, reverent and smiling as his heartbeat picks up speed in his chest.

The whistle blows the last boarding call and Louis playfully pushes Harry toward the train. "Call me when you get there."

"I'll call you from the road," Harry replies, going in for one last kiss before he turns and climbs aboard his London-bound train.

Harry finds a seat and stows his duffle, smiles to himself as the train starts to move and he watches Louis fade into the distance. He lets himself relax a bit as the train picks up speed, resting his head against the seat back and closing his eyes. He’s enjoying a particular daydream about when Louis surprised him in the shower this morning, smirking at Harry and dropping to his knees and - 

“Harry Stars!”

“Styles. It’s Harry Styles,” he replies in a huff before opening his eyes to a face full of Nick Grimshaw. “Hi Nick.”

“Styles, of course! How could I forget? Annie Cox’s son. How are you, mate?” 

Harry fights the urge to roll his eyes, what, with Nick sat right in front of him and all expectant looking, like Harry’s the most fascinating thing he’s seen all day. “I’m the same as I was half an hour ago when you were chatting up my boyfriend. How do you two know each other again? And should I be offended that it took you this long to remember who I am?”

Nick just laughs, reaching out to squeeze a very large hand around Harry’s knee. “How could I ever _really_ forget those curls? And I’ll have you know, young Harold, that Louis Tomlinson was the _loveliest_ intern to ever grace the halls at Radio 1. Shame he has to go back to uni this term.” 

“It’s _just Harry._ ”

“Whatever. That’s what I said. Anyways, how long have you and Louis been together, hmm? Seeing each other off at the train and snogging in public is a very boyfriendly, _new relationship_ thing to do.” Harry had almost forgotten about Nick’s propensity for talking just to hear the sound of his own voice. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, shakes his hair out and brushes it out of his eyes.

“Are you always this intrusive with people you barely know?” Harry’s pretty sure the answer is yes, but he can’t help asking it just the same. He sighs, knowing there’s no way he’s getting off this train without having whatever conversation Nick wants to have, so he reluctantly answers his previous question. “We’ve been together about a month. Met in London, and yes, we’re going to try and do the long distance thing. Shouldn’t be too bad since I’m taking this term away from uni to focus on my band.”

“Ooh, so you fancy yourself a musician, then? Tough business, that. Good luck to you, then.” Harry could tell him that they’d made it to bloody _judges houses_ because Simon Cowell thought they were quite good, thank you very much. 

But. 

He’s sort of afraid of jinxing himself (and the boys) if he tells anyone else about it.

“Got a great gig going, myself,” Nick continues, not even waiting for a response from Harry. “Been doing the night show on Radio One for near two years now. Got my eye on the Breakfast Show, though. Just you wait, Harry Styles. Some day you’ll be saying, ‘I knew him when...’”

Harry doubts very much that he’ll be saying anything of the sort.

“And since you asked so nicely, _Harry_ ,” Nick says sarcastically, making sure to emphasize his usage of the correct name, “I’ve got a boyfriend, myself, these days. His name’s Henry, and he’s fabulous. Up and coming fashion star, that one. We’ve been friends for ages, the boyfriend-slash-sex just sort of...happened. But it’s fantastic.”

Harry’s just staring at Nick incredulously, because really, who in their right mind shares _this much_ information with a virtual stranger? Okay, _yes_ , they spent an entire day together a couple of years ago, but it’s not like they were friends. Right? 

Harry just wants to enjoy the quiet lull of the train and think about his boyfriend’s pretty pink lips wrapped around his dick, but Nick will not _shut up_.

So, he spends the rest of his trip listening to Nick prattle on about this person that he interviewed last week or some friend of his who rented a house in Ibiza for Christmas next. Harry wonders if he’s supposed to be impressed, if this is Nick’s way of trying to get into Harry’s pants, or something. But Nick’s got a boyfriend now, so that surely can’t be the reason he’s sat with Harry and talking his ear off. Maybe Nick’s just the sort of person who can’t stand the quiet, needs to fill up all the empty spaces with idle chatter to keep himself from feeling uncomfortable. Either way, Nick _seems_ happy, not that Harry would really know the difference.

When the train finally arrives in London, Harry feels a bit awkward. Nick’s just spent the better part of the day telling Harry about every aspect of his life, yet he’s not mentioned exchanging numbers or anything of the sort. Harry’s not really accustomed to people like Nick Grimshaw, who make him feel rattled and slightly off-kilter. Should he _suggest_ getting together when Harry gets back in town? Would it be weird if he _did_ suggest it?

Before Harry can make a decision, Nick is holding out his hand and saying, “Well, Harry Styles, it was very nice talking to you again.” And it feels like deja vu. After all, they _have_ done this before. “Good luck with your band, as well.”

“Thanks,” Harry answers. And then, “Maybe we’ll run into each other again someday.”

Nick smiles, wide and friendly, and says quietly, “Until then.”

He walks away and Harry is just as confused by him as he’d been two years prior. 

 

3\. London, 2011 (Harry is 21, Nick is 27)

 

_"The third time we met we became friends.”_

 

It’s been a long summer of choosing songs and recording and album prep. Harry really hadn’t thought they’d get this far when they made it to X-factor live shows, but he wouldn’t trade any of it. Really. Even the not-so-happy parts of the last year.

Like the fact that it’s been over a week since Louis left for good, and Harry still hasn't told his boys.

They’ve got a bit of a break from recording today, and in true One Direction fashion, the three of them are having lunch together. They've spent so much of the last year _together_ , practically living in each other's back pockets, that it feels strange to be apart. Especially now when Harry really needs the distraction.

Niall is sharing a story with them about one of his mates back in Mullingar, and it just feels so _good_ to be able to laugh without having to think about it. He knows the boys have noticed his odd behavior, but he hopes he's not been complete shit at hiding how he's really been feeling the last couple of months, when things with Louis were going south but he didn't know how to stop it and they were essentially leading different lives. And he's thankful, really, that he has Liam and Niall. He's not sure how he'd manage without them.

The laughter dies down and it's quiet for just a moment, but Harry doesn't miss the meaningful look Niall throws in Liam's direction. Nor does he miss the way Liam nods and takes a deep breath before looking up at Harry.

"So, uh. I ran into Louis last night," Liam states, and Harry's stomach plummets as if he'd just jumped from a twenty story building. He can only close his eyes and try to take in a lungful of air as Liam continues talking.

"Harry. _Haz_ , why didn't you tell us that Louis moved out?" Liam's voice is low and soothing, Niall's hand warm where he's rested it on Harry's forearm. Once again, he's reminded just how much these two lads have come to mean to him this past year.

Harry shrugs and glances at both his friends, takes in their solemn, concerned faces and feels a little guilty. He never wants to burden them, but he also realises that he can always be himself with Liam and Niall, open and honest in a way none of them can be with the outside world. They really are a second family. 

Still, he's not sure how much of what happened between he and Louis he's ready (or _willing_ ) to share.

"I guess, I don't know really. It's been coming for a while. We've both been so busy, we just didn't have time for each other anymore. Wasn't really fair to either of us." He leaves out the part that Louis' had been trying to shove Harry back in the proverbial closet ever since he'd been signed on to play for Man U this coming season. And that was something that Harry couldn't do for Louis.

But Liam and Niall don’t need to know that. Harry and Louis had been together for well over a year, lived together the last few months, and Louis had developed friendships with both of Harry’s bandmates. Harry didn’t want them to think badly of Louis just because things hadn’t worked out with the two of them. 

“I’m okay, guys,” he tells them, trying to put a convincing smile on his face. “Really, I’m fine. Just still trying to process everything.”

Apparently he’s done a decent enough job, for now, because they both come in for a group hug, wrapping him up tightly in the safety of the gesture. He still has a lot to be thankful for.

*

Later in the afternoon, Harry and Niall are checking out a new vintage record store that one of their writers, Savan, had told Harry about. Harry loves the way music sounds on vinyl, even stole his mum’s old records from the 70's and 80's when she'd converted everything over to CD a few years back. Harry could spend hours here, leafing through recordings by artists from Led Zeppelin and the Beatles to Depeche Mode and the Cure. 

He's lost himself somewhere in the Punk Rock section when Niall comes up behind him, nudging Harry gently with his elbow. "Mate, there's someone eyeing you in classic disco." 

Harry glances up over the top of the Ramones album he's been looking at and answers, "I know him."

"Harry," Niall says disbelievingly. "That's _Nick Grimshaw_. Pretty sure anyone who's ever listened to Radio 1 knows him."

"No, I mean I _actually_ know him. His sister's a friend of my mum. He drove me to London when I first came for university. You'd get on well - he's quite cheeky. Never remembers me, though."

"Well, looks like you're wrong about that mate, 'cause he's coming this way."

Harry turns just as Niall starts to walk away, and then -

"Harry Styles."

"Hey, hiya Nick."

They stand awkwardly for a moment or two, which is strange, because Nick usually fills up all the quiet, empty spaces with chatter about whatever pops into his head. But he doesn't seem to have that inclination today, so Harry guesses it's up to him to start a conversation. 

"So," he starts. Brilliant. "Um, how are you? How're things with, ah, Henry, right?" 

Nick scratches at the back of his head, avoiding Harry's eyes. He ruffles his hair, pulls the front up into a careless quiff and swallows hard. "Yeah. We uh...we broke up."

And that's. Well. It's just Nick looks so _sad_ , and it's completely the opposite of the Nick that Harry remembers. It's possible that maybe he can sympathize with Nick a little bit. "I'm sorry, Nick. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, well," Nick replies. "It was nothing dramatic or anything...just decided we really were better off as friends. Now he's taken up with some fit young model, which is ironic, really, considering how much time he spent taking the piss when I went through my Diesel model phase a few years back."

This sounds a little more like the Nick he met three years ago, no verbal filter and just an edge of bitterness underlying his casual tone. 

"Anyways, what about you? How is the lovely Louis?"

"He's fine," Harry says, trying to keep his heart in his chest where it belongs, because this is the first time since they broke up that he's spoken to anyone other than his bandmates about Louis. "I hear he's fine."

"What? You're not with Tomlinson anymore?"

Harry shrugs, toes at the ratty carpet under his feet and says, "Not really. I mean. No."

"Oh." Nick replies, his shoulders slumped forward as if he can actually feel the weight of Harry's sadness. When he tells Harry how _very sorry_ he is to hear it, Harry believes him.

"Hey, I'm off for the rest of the day. Would you maybe like, I don't know, want to...maybe get a coffee or something? If you're not busy, that is." He can't believe he just asked Nick for _coffee_ , of all things. It might be a terrible idea, but Harry suddenly has the urge to just sit and _talk_ with someone. Someone who's not woven into the very fibre of Harry's everyday life. Someone who maybe understands how Harry feels but won't offer any unsolicited advice.

Someone like Nick.

"I'd understand if you've got plans or -"

"No," Nick says, looking at Harry with an expression that's sort of confused, but there's a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "I think coffee would be _lovely_ , Harry."

*

They're sat at a quiet little bakery just down the street from the record shop, Harry nursing an americano while Nick plucks at his croissant between sips of warm, sweet mocha. Harry watches him slowly tear the pastry to shreds as Nick tells him all the details of his relationship with Henry. 

"The worst part, I think..." Nick says, putting a small piece of croissant into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "I really do love him, I was just never _in love_ with him, you know? We just had this drunk hook up one night, and I remember thinking, 'maybe this is my chance at something real'. We both figured, why not give it a go? Silly, right?"

"Not silly at all. Some of the strongest relationships start out as friendships. My mum always told us that being able to be friends with the person you love is the key to making relationships last." Harry's positive that's the reason his mum is so much happier with Robin than she ever was with Harry's dad. "At least you can still be friends, right?"

"Yeah, I mean. It was weird at first. But he has David now and he's _happy_ , and I guess that's all I really want for him in the end. What about you and Louis?"

It’s strange, but Harry feels like he can be one hundred percent honest about this with Nick. Not that he couldn’t have been with Liam and Niall, but Nick is outside the situation. He can be objective and not feel like he’s losing a friend by taking sides. 

“It was weird, because I really thought we were happy, in love. And then with all the X-factor stuff and the tour, things just got really crazy. But when I came home we decided to move in together. I thought...I thought we were a team.” He’s never really told anyone this part, not even his mum, and he pretty much shares everything with her. 

“But after graduation, the offer came in from Manchester United, and he...he didn’t want to go out all that much anymore, and when we did, he’d introduce me to people as his ‘flatmate’. It was like, both of our dreams were finally coming true, but in order for that to happen, he felt he had to hide who I was to him. It went on for a couple of months until I finally told him I wasn’t willing to hide in a closet for the rest of my life. I was really mad and I stormed out - when I came back he was gone. Everything that belonged to him was just...gone. All he left behind was a letter, letting me know he’d be staying with his mum and that I could forward any post to him there."

Harry's toying with his coffee cup, staring at the lid like it holds the answers to the universe. He's not sure what to say now. He almost regrets saying as much as he has.

"Of all the bloody _stupid_...Louis' a fucking wanker."

It's the first time Harry's ever seen Nick angry. He's really glad it's not directed at him, if he's honest.

"You don't have to say that, I mean. I'm okay with the way things are." He shrugs, trying to force a smile on his face.

"I stand by my word, young Harold," Nick says with a wink. "Louis Tomlinson is an absolute prat, and you, my friend are better off without him."

Harry can't help but smile this time, feeling lighter suddenly. "So, does this mean we're _actual_ friends now? Because, as I recall, you said once that it was best if we weren’t." He's being cheeky and he knows it, but Harry doesn't think Nick will mind. 

"Did I say that? I don't remember." Nick scratches his chin as if he's contemplating, grinning like a loon when he meets Harry's gaze. "Yes, I suppose we are. Friends, who'd have thunk it? Little old me, mates with an up and coming pop sensation. Just don't go falling in love with me, superstar. You'll ruin everything."

*

"Where are you?" Harry asks, trying to balance his phone between his shoulder and his ear while counting out the correct change to the girl behind the counter at Starbucks. She clearly recognizes him from the telly, by the way she's flirting with him. 

_"Manchester. Why?"_ Nick answers over the line.

Harry smiles at the girl behind the counter as he takes his coffee and heads to the door. "Me too. D'you want to meet up? I was thinking of doing a bit of shopping."

_"Sure. Tell me where to meet you and I'll be there in twenty minutes."_

They’ve been spending quite a bit of time together, since the coffee shop. One Direction’s first single debuted on Radio 1 two weeks ago, and has been getting more buzz than they could have hoped for. Harry’s thankful to have a friend like Nick, someone who takes the craziness in stride. He never gets phased by the paparazzi, in fact, he usually handles it better than Harry does. All of this ‘celebrity’ stuff is still so new to Harry, and Nick really gets it. He doesn’t expect Harry to act like ‘Harry Styles of One Direction’ when they’re together, he’s just Hazza, and he really likes it. 

Today they are shopping in Selfridges, and only a couple of people have asked him for a photo or an autograph, so he’s counting it as a successful trip. Harry’s in a changing room with about twenty jumpers and skinnies in five different shades of blue and gray. He ends up choosing the darkest blue jeans and a beige jumper with suede elbow pads that’s really about two sizes too big for him, but is warm and cozy and reminds him of home.

When he comes out of the changing room, Nick is pacing behind the leather sofa, talking to himself. “...only six years...not even! Five and a half, really...”

“What happened?” Harry asks. “You look absolutely affronted.”

Nick huffs, crosses his arms over his middle and cocks his hip to one side. “The bloody sales girl thought I was your _father_.”

Harry barks out a laugh, uncontrollable as Nick stomps his foot and declares, “It’s not _funny_ , Harold. I’m twenty-seven. _Twenty-seven_."

"Poor baby," Harry says. "Don't worry, Grimmy, you don't look old and haggard, or anything of the sort. She must have left her glasses at home, is all." 

Nick shrugs him off as they head to the checkout. "Don't flatter me, Harry. It's that baby face of yours. Makes you look like a child." He's sulking, but Harry just laughs it off and pays for his things.

And when, an hour later, Harry gets mistaken for Frankie Coccoza, well. Nick takes the piss all afternoon and Harry doesn't complain. Not even once.

*

 **grimmers:** Hey @Harry_Styles why don’t you tell everyone who you got mistaken for yesterday

 **Harry_Styles:** @grimmers your son?

*

 **Harry_Styles:** Chilling with My ‘father’ @grimmers ...he’s teaching me about the birds, the bees, and the double D’s.

*

 **Harry_Styles:** Wolverhampton....you were amazing tonight.. Great to be in Liam’s hometown. The crowd was unbelievable. Thank you.xx

 **grimmers:** @Harry_Styles can i be the Lulu to your Take That on Friday? GOTTA BE STROOOONG ENOUGH.....etc

 **Harry_Styles:** @grimmers I hear I’m coming to yours for Christmas...is your dad gonna call me Henry Stars again?

 **grimmers:** @Harry_Styles yes my dad is very excited. “eh, ‘arry bleedin’ Styles, get those parsnips peeled” #Styles/GrimshawXmas2011

 **grimmers:** @Harry_Styles also HENRY STARS is trending :(

*

 **Harry_Styles:** Hi Manchester...

 **grimmers:** About to watch my badman friend @Harry_Styles start an earthquake up in manchester

*

One Direction has been playing shows throughout the UK for the last month or so. It’s Christmas time now, so they’re on a break for the next week, giving the boys a chance to spend the holidays with friends and family. Harry had spent a few days at his mum’s house, but he’d left earlier this afternoon because Nick’s parents had been kind enough to invite him to their Christmas celebration.

“Was your mum upset that you were leaving early?”

Harry’s standing at the sink peeling parsnips for Nick’s mum because she asked and he’s _nice_ , and he really _likes_ Nick’s family. “Not really, no. We have most of our family stuff on Christmas Eve, so after breakfast I was pretty much free. Promised her I’d head back tomorrow for a bit before I have to meet the boys.” He sets the peeler in the sink and gives the parsnips one more rinse before putting them in the pan with some water and leaving them on the cooker for Nick’s mum.

“I’m really glad you could come,” Nick says, grinning around the rim of his wine glass as he takes a sip. “Bloody boring here without you.” 

“Awww, have you missed me, Grimmy?” Harry says, teasing. Nick snaps the tea towel in Harry’s direction and Harry whines, _Hey_ in a slow, drawn out drawl, reaching for his own wine glass on the worktop behind Nick. “I wouldn’t have missed this chance to just hang out. Besides, your mum _loves_ me. Couldn’t let her down, now could I?”

"No, I suppose not, you bloody heartbreaker," Nick answers, chuckling. "Speaking of which, you haven't said anything about your dinner with Cazza."

It had felt awkward, telling Nick that he had a date with Caroline, especially since she's one of Nick's good friends. Harry tries not to think too much about _why_ he'd felt that way. After all, it's not like he and Nick have ever been anything more than what they are, but when you spend so much of your free time with someone, it's totally normal to wonder, _what if?_.

Completely and absolutely normal.

"It was nice," Harry replies. "She's really lovely."

Nick huffs, indignant. "Nice? Lovely? That's all you have to say?" 

Harry can tell that Nick is teasing, but it gets under his skin just the same. He supposes that's Nick's intent.

"What would you like me to say? I took her to dinner, we had a good time. I told her I'd like to see her again. I kissed her goodnight and then I put her in a Black Cab. End of story."

"Huh." Nick folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the worktop, a mild look of confusion on his face.

"What's that look for?"

Nick shrugs, twists a hand up through his messy quiff. "I mean, this is Flackers we're talking about. I know more about her love life than I can remember about my own, and I can't imagine a scenario where you _don't_ end up in her bed at the end of the evening."

Harry scoffs. "I'm sure she'd be charmed by your high opinion of her."

"Now, now. I'm not implying anything about Cazza, but if she was interested enough to ask you out, then she is interested in shagging you senseless. And considering what an absolute _charmer_ you are, well. I'm just a bit surprised, is all."

Harry had been a little surprised himself, if he's being honest. Caroline _was_ lovely, and it had been fun - the flirtation, the conversation, all of it. Her personality was a lot like Nick, which had put Harry at ease immediately. But when the end of the night had come, he just hadn't felt ready for anything more.

"I'm not like you," Harry blurts, and thank _God_ the door to the kitchen is closed because he can feel his voice growing louder even as he tries to keep it under control. "I'm not going to jump into bed with a different person every week so that I can pretend I'm okay."

_Shit._

Bewildered, Nick replies, "What in the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" 

Harry takes Nick by the hand, dragging him out into the back garden before they draw the attention of Nick's family, if they haven't already done so. When the door slams shut behind them, Harry lets go of Nick and loses control of the words falling from his lips.

"It means that I won't fuck someone just for the sake of fucking them. I need to feel some kind of connection with them, not the way _you_ do it like you're out for revenge, or something!" Harry’s seen the pictures, Nick leaving club after club with a different boy on his arm each time. It’s just one more thing Harry tries not to think about while he’s out on the road.

He meets Nick's gaze, then, sees how resigned he looks, almost defeated. "Shit, Grimmy, I shouldn't have -"

"They're getting married."

And that's. "Wait, _what?_ "

Nick sighs. "Henry and his David. They're on Holiday in Fiji and they're getting married before they come home. I just found out a couple of weeks ago and you were gone, and it just didn't feel right to dump that on you over the phone or by text. I needed to clear my head, so if my sexual exploits seem a bit more out of control than usual, or it appears that I’ve fallen back into old habits, that's probably why."

Harry's not one to say 'I told you so', he's _not_ , even if it seems that Nick is expecting to hear it. Instead he pulls Nick to him and hugs him tight. It's enough to keep Nick talking, apparently.

"I'm happy for them, really. It just. I'm almost thirty. _Thirty_ , Harry. Sometimes i get tired of being alone, y'know?" 

"You're only twenty-seven," Harry answers, kissing Nick on the cheek before letting him go.

"But it's out there, Harry. It's out there and it's _taunting_ me."

Harry barks out a laugh, and they both fumble out quiet apologies. Nick throws one arm around Harry's shoulder, leading him back to the house. "We're okay, yeah?" Nick asks, uncertainty in his voice that Harry's not accustomed to.

Harry smiles and knocks their hips together. "Of course we are, you nutter. And you're not alone. You have me, always."

Later in the evening when everyone’s gone to bed, Nick is sat in the corner of the sofa and Harry is curled up beside him, his head resting in Nick’s lap while they watch a film on the telly. Nick’s fingers are carding gently through Harry’s curls just the way he knows Harry likes, and this is the most relaxed Harry’s felt in ages, no signs of their earlier disagreement lingering at all. He's here with his best friend (because Nick _is_ his best friend, aside from Niall and Liam; has gone from not even remembering Harry’s name to being the person he can go to when he needs to escape), away from the cameras and the spotlights and all the expectations that come with being _Harry Styles from One Direction_. He’s safe here, feels comfortable in a way that he’s only ever felt with his own family or when he’s with Liam and Niall. 

“Was a good day,” he murmurs, sleepily, near purring at the way Nick is pulling his hair just a little bit as he scratches behind Harry’s ears. “Wish I could have more just like this.”

Nick hums, brushes Harry’s hair out of his face and chuckles at the way Harry pushes up into his hand. “Like a bloody kitten, you are,” Nick says with affection. He also wishes there were more days they could spend like this, lazing about on the sofa and watching tv, but Harry’s in the middle of tour and album promo, so Nick will take what he can get for now.

"When are you seeing Cazza again?" Nick asks, curious.

Harry hums, murmurs, "Having lunch day after tomorrow."

"I'm glad," he says sincerely. "She's great, and I can really see you with her. Do you think you'll want to bring her for New Years?"

"She's leaving for holiday with Sam the day before, so no." Harry's fine with it, really. He has no plans to rush into anything too serious, and he'd rather spend the holiday with his good friends than a potential girlfriend.

“You can be my date, then. Keep me out of trouble," he tells Harry, gently tapping his cheek with the tip of his index finger to make sure Harry’s listening. “And then if we’re both still single next year, we can spend the holidays together again. Make it a tradition or something."

“All the holidays?” Harry asks.

“Bloody hell, yes, _all_ the holidays, you needy little bastard. When you’re not gallivanting all over the world with your internationally known boyband, that is.”

Harry smiles up at him from his perch in Nick’s lap. “I like it. Never have to worry about being alone on New Year’s or Valentine’s. You’ve got yourself a date, Grimshaw.”

*

 **Harry_Styles:** Please know i didn't 'dump' caroline. This was a mutual decision. She is one of the kindest, sweetest people I know. Please respect that.

*

 _"Where are you?"_ Nick asks on the other end of the line.

Harry reaches for the remote, tucks the blankets back in around him as he burrows deeper into the bed. "Berlin. Full day of promo today, a couple of radio appearances tomorrow. I'm having a bit of a lie-in, thought I'd call and see if you wanted to watch telly with me." It's not all that late, but Harry is _tired_ and a bit homesick, if he's being honest. Lounging around and chatting with Nick is all he can handle right now.

"For goodness sake, Harold. Any normal lad of twenty-two with even an ounce of self respect would be out at a club getting pissed with his friends right now." 

Harry chuckles, rubs a hand over his face and pushes his fringe out of his eyes. "Well, I'm not twenty-two yet, and I'm hardly a normal lad, now am I?"

"No," Nick replies, and Harry can hear the smile in his voice. "No, I don't suppose you are. You alright, then?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. I talked to Cazza earlier."

Nick sighs. "She's fine, you know, Harry. She's stayed off twitter and refuses to read the papers. You did the right thing."

"I know," Harry answers. "And I know we'll still be good friends, it's just. The fans were terrible to her and I wasn't there, y'know?"

"I know, and I'm sorry." 

They chat for awhile, mostly about whatever is on tv, a little about Harry's schedule and whatever guest Nick has scheduled for his show this week. They chat while Nick is in the back of a cab on his way to the studio for his show, and all too soon they're having to say goodbye. 

"I'm back on Friday for a couple of days," Harry says, even though Nick knows his schedule nearly as well as Harry does. It should be weird, but it's not. It's just _them_ , best mates who are too tactile, too affectionate and too wrapped up in each other's lives. Harry wouldn't have it any other way.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

"It's not tomorrow yet," Harry answers.

"I know, but I wanted to make sure I was the first to tell you." Nick is one of the kindest people Harry's ever known, and he wishes sometimes that he'd let more people see that side of him. "Finchy's waving his arms at me, so I should probably hang up now. See you on the weekend?"

"I'm expecting a grand birthday extravaganza in my honour."

Nick laughs, bright and sweet. "How does dinner at Shoreditch followed by karaoke with a few really close friends sound?"

"Sounds like _exactly_ what I need. See you soon, Grimmy." 

"Later, popstar."

*

The weeks pass quickly, finding Harry in Paris, America, and Australia, and each time he comes home, Nick is the first person he wants to see. In February alone, they manage to find time to celebrate Harry's birthday and Valentine's Day, and take Nick's mum to a fashion show. 

Harry goes to Nick's DJ gigs when he's in town, and he's become a regular on nights out with Nick's friends. They have lunch with Pixie and Theo the day before Harry leaves for the States, and the night he gets back, they sing karaoke with Aimee, Kelly, and a few others. 

Nick fits seamlessly into Harry's world as well. He comes to most of their London area appearances (when he's not working), and the boys adore Nick's sarcastic wit. He gets on particularly well with Harry's mum and sister, having run into them both at one event or another. He's become particularly close with Anne, partially due to the fact that she's an old friend of Nick's sister, but mostly because of Harry.

In fact, Anne has taken to calling Nick to see how Harry's doing, the pair meeting up for lunch every week while One Direction is on tour in America over the summer. Harry thinks that maybe he should worry over what the two are talking about on their lunch dates, but when it comes down to it, he's just really thankful to have the people he cares most about care for _each other_.

One Direction returns from America early in July for a well-deserved break before they continue work on their second album. Niall's gone home to Mullingar, and Liam has his sister and her boyfriend staying with him in the wake of his recent break-up with his longtime girlfriend, Danielle. They all need the reprieve, and some time to settle back into the real world.

For Harry, this means letting himself into Nick's flat in the middle of the night and curling up on the sofa with the spare blanket and pillow that Nick keeps in the hall cupboard. Normally, he'd just go and crawl into Nick's bed and demand a cuddle. But...he's been gone for a while, is the thing. And even though they are still very close and talk at least every other day, Harry doesn't really know much about what (or _who_ ) Nick's been doing in his absence.

He’s not sure how long he sleeps, but when he wakes up, there’s a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table and Nick is sitting on the floor in front of him, flipping through the channels on the telly. Harry stretches like a cat, reaching out to tug Nick's ear and asks, "W'time is it?"

"Nearly five," Nick answers, smiling into his own cup of tea. "Was getting ready to order some take away, actually."

"Why'd you let me sleep all day?"

Nick laughs, looking at Harry like he has three heads or something. "Same reason you slept on the sofa, I imagine. You need the rest." He _did_ , but something in his tone tells Harry that Nick knows there's more to the story than either of them is willing to acknowledge. 

Nick is watching him, and now that Harry's a bit more alert, he notices the near frantic look in Nick's eyes, the slight edge of hysteria in his voice. He's very nearly vibrating, and Harry's suddenly quite concerned. He hasn't seen Nick like this since around the time he found out Henry was getting married. And he knows Nick so much better now that he recognizes it almost immediately.

He drops to the floor beside Nick, still wrapped in his blanket, and takes Nick's face in his hands. He almost misses the way Nick shivers at his touch, but he can't think about what that might mean, not right now. He takes the mug from Nick's hand and places it on the table. Then, searching Nick's eyes he asks, "What's going on with you?"

"I um. I got called into the office for a meeting this morning. With the big boss." Nick looks down to where he's been wringing his hands in his lap, then glances back to meet Harry's eyes. He's obviously anxious, maybe even a little bit unsure of something, and it's not a look that Harry is accustomed to seeing on Nick's face.

"Oh, Grimmy. _What did you do?_ "

Nick scoffs, "Nothing, you _prat_!" He huffs out a nervous laugh and shoves Harry away playfully. His shoulders relax, but only slightly when he says, "If I tell you, you can't say anything to _anyone_ , yeah?"

Harry takes Nick's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I promise."

Nick grins, biting his lip as he glances up at Harry. "Moyles is out. They've offered me the Breakfast Show."

"Nick, that's. Oh my _God_!" Harry throws his arms around Nick, the both of them toppling over onto the floor in a heap. Harry laughs, telling Nick over and over how great it is, how _proud_ Harry is of him, until he realizes that Nick is not moving. His hands are gripping firmly to Harry’s hips, but he’s stock still, barely breathing where Harry’s come to rest on top of him. He also realizes around this same time that his blanket was cast aside in all of his excitement, and that he’s _laying on top of Nick_ in nothing more than his pants. 

He pulls back to look at Nick, and when their eyes meet, Harry feels like there’s a strange sort of electricity crackling in the air around them. He swallows hard and puts a hand flat against Nick’s chest, “S’good, yeah?” He’s not really sure whether he’s still talking about Nick’s new job or not.

Nick takes a deep breath, shudders as he exhales, and the corner of his mouth turns up into just the slightest of smirks. “S’what I’ve always wanted.”

They’re staring at each other, and with each passing second that neither of them moves, the weird tension between them seems to grow stronger and stronger. _"Nick,"_ Harry whispers, searching Nick's eyes for an answer to the questions he's too afraid to ask: _Do you want me? Am I imagining all of this? Could we be something more?_

Harry's phone vibrates on the coffee table where he left it the night before. Nick chuckles, gives him a gentle push as Harry rolls away to answer the call. He can feel the weight of Nick's gaze on his back as he apologises to his mum over the line for not texting to let her know he'd made it home. He lays back beside Nick on the floor, only glances over at him once, when he tells his mum that he'd crashed on Nick's sofa and had slept the day away. Harry assures her that he'll be up on the weekend for a visit and ends the call, trying not to think on what might have happened if she hadn't called when she did.

Harry thinks maybe they should talk about it, but Nick is rolling away, standing up and saying something about calling Aimee. 

"What?" he asks, confused by the sudden shift of energy in the room.

Nick seems back to his normal self, though, letting out a put upon sigh as he turns to smile at Harry. "What I said, _popstar_ , is just because the news won't go public until Friday, doesn't mean we can't go out for drinks to celebrate my good fortune. Now, get yourself showered and dressed while I call Aimee and order us in some dinner."

*

Things go back mostly to normal after that. Every once in a while Harry will catch himself staring at Nick’s mouth when he talks, or at his long fingers as Nick twists them through the front of his floppy quiff. He can’t quite pinpoint when these were things he started to notice, but it’s definitely been happening more and more since that night in Nick’s living room.

The problem is, they still don’t talk about it. Not when they get papped out on Nick’s twenty-eighth birthday, not after the photos appear online of them picnicking in the park with friends a few days later. Not even when the rumors start circulating about the nature of their relationship after they’ve been photographed together nearly every day for a week leading up to Harry leaving for Los Angeles. Definitely not while they’re filming the tv promo for Nick’s new morning show. Harry’s pretty sure at this point that it was all in his head, just a figment of his overactive imagination. And he’s okay with it, he thinks.

He’d rather keep Nick as his best friend than not have him in his life at all.

*

 **grimmers:** good luck tonight at the VMAs @Harry_Styles ...dont forget to thank Radio One again!

 **Harry_Styles:** @grimmers ohhhhhhhh god.

 **grimmers:** Yehhhhhh my G @Harry_Styles u gots a moon man! #VMAs

*

 **grimmers:** arghh last evening show tonight! An array of guests will be stopping by from 10pm to sing hip hop karaoke. And you can watch it too ONLINE x

*

 **Harry_Styles:** Thank you again to @BBCR1 for having us... Thank you everyone who voted! So happy to win!! #TeenAwards good job @grimmers :D

* 

One Direction’s new album is released to record-breaking sales, and they are spending the bulk of their time in London prepping for their upcoming show at Madison Square Garden in December. All of Harry’s dreams are coming true, and some days he feels the need to pinch himself, just to make sure it’s not all a product of his imagination. He’s never been happier with his decision to get in the car with Nick that day, leaving his band behind and taking the chance to really pursue his dreams.

 

Nick’s show has really taken off, as well. They don’t know for sure just yet, but the numbers look really good so far, even if a lot of Moyles fans have taken pleasure in expressing their distaste all over the Breakfast Show facebook page. Nick’s boss believes in him and what his team is doing, believes he can bring in a broader audience and keep Radio 1 at the top of it’s game.

It was during rehearsals for the Teen Awards when Nick introduced Harry to Taylor Swift. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but when they ran into each other again in Los Angeles at the XFactor, they’d started talking about their current projects and life on the road, and discovered how much they had in common. Which led to drinks, and then dinner, and now he’s _dating_ Taylor Swift. It’s all really sweet and nice, and so is Taylor, but Harry’s currently standing in the middle of Times Square in New York City on New Year’s Eve, when he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. He _misses_ Nick, is the thing. They didn’t even get to have a proper Christmas because Harry’d only had a couple of days at home and he’d promised his mum because he hadn’t been home in so long. The best he could manage was showing up on Nick’s parent’s doorstep in the middle of the night and making sandwiches from leftovers while their friend, Aimee looked on. 

It’s not like he’s _pining_ , not really. Nick is his _best friend_ and Harry is allowed to miss him, to wish he was hidden away in a beach house with their entire circle of friends for a week, maybe curling up in a hammock with Nick for a late afternoon nap. He knows he should be happy to be where he is, ringing in the new year in New York with a beautiful girl on his arm who wants nothing more than to kiss him at midnight. Anyone would consider themselves lucky to be in his shoes right now. 

But.

He still wonders sometimes. Even when he sees Nick repeat in interview after interview that he’s never been in love, that he thinks he might be too selfish to ever open himself up to that kind of commitment. Harry torments himself (no matter how hard he tries not to) wondering if maybe someday Nick will just _wake up_ and see...yeah.

Until then, Harry can keep pretending. He’s gotten pretty good at it.

He hopes that the smile on his face is at least somewhat convincing enough for Taylor and the cameras that have suddenly swarmed them as he leans in and pecks her lips quickly. He follows as her security team ushers them back inside and tries not to wonder what Nick will think if he sees the footage, if he cares enough to look for it at all.

If he's being honest, this might be the worst New Year’s he’s ever had. But Taylor looks so hopeful, waiting for the ball to drop and looking at Harry like he’s the Prince Charming to her Disney Princess. Harry doesn’t really believe in fairy tales, doesn’t think it’s realistic to believe that there’s one person in the world who will complete you and be your perfect partner. Not when the one person in his life that fits that description is the one person he doesn’t think he can ever have. 

*

Harry breaks up with Taylor less than a week later, after their trip to the Virgin Islands goes sour. He spends the next forty-eight hours drinking himself stupid at Richard Branson’s island estate before he finally calls Nick to say he’s coming home.

*

 

4\. London, 2013 (Harry is 22(23), Nick is 28)

_"We were friends for a long time."_

_"And then we weren't."_

*

They don't talk about Harry's disastrous vacation. They don't talk about Taylor at all, except for the one time when they get drunk with Aimee and her boyfriend Ian (who also happens to be a producer on Nick’s show, thank you very much. Nick likes to fancy himself an expert matchmaker.), and Nick starts going on about 'needy little pop-princesses who expect everyone to fall at their feet'. Of course he passes out on the sofa a few minutes after his little speech, but at least Harry knows that Nick still has his back, is still his best mate.

By the time Harry's twenty-third birthday rolls around, Nick has decided that it's his mission to find Harry a new boyfriend. His reason being, of course, that Harry's most recent attempts to date women have ended in disaster, therefore, he should let Nick help him find the perfect man.

Nick's idea of the perfect man comes in the form of a rising R&B singer named Zayn Malik that he recently interviewed on the breakfast show. Harry's heard his single, and he's a fantastic singer, but he's really not Harry's type. He loves comic books and superheroes and _Usher_ , and those are really just things that Harry is not interested in. It would be like dating Liam, and as much as he loves him, Harry definitely doesn't want to date him.

As it turns out, Zayn is _exactly_ Liam's type, which takes them all by surprise (especially Liam), as he's never shown any interest in men before. But Harry hasn't seen that look on Liam's face since his happier days with Danielle, and he thinks maybe fate works in mysterious ways.

They find out a week later that Zayn has been signed as the opening act for One Direction on the UK and US legs of their upcoming tour. Harry makes Nick promise to never play matchmaker for him again, telling him he’s just not ready to date anyone right now. 

*

It's two days until their opening night at the O2 when Harry finds himself knocking on Nick's door in the middle of the night. It's raining - which Harry thinks is appropriate, given the circumstances - and he's drenched from walking the distance from his house to Nick's flat. He probably should have driven, or called first for that matter, but he was really in no state for practical thinking when he'd slipped on his shoes and walked out the door.

Nick barely has the door open, rubbing his eyes and mumbling about Harry using his bloody key because that's why Nick gave it to him, when it suddenly must register that Harry is standing _dripping wet_ on his doorstep at half twelve on a Thursday.

"Harry, what -"

"Louis called me," Harry blurts out.

"Bloody hell," Nick answers, grabbing Harry by the wrist and tugging him over the threshold. "Let's get you warmed up and into some dry clothes, love."

Nick ushers Harry into the bathroom, turning on the tap in the shower to let the water heat. Harry feels numb, whether from the rain or his current emotional state he's not sure. His limbs feel heavy as he lets Nick strip him of his wet clothes, staring blankly and letting Nick take control. 

The room is nearly filled with steam, the heat from the warming lights Nick had had installed last autumn starting to sink into Harry's chilled skin. He remembers distinctly when Nick had chosen them because Harry'd teased him about it for ages, until he'd tested them out for himself one chilly morning. He wonders briefly to himself why that one memory is so clear in his mind right now, but shakes it off when Nick murmurs, "Get in, love. I'll put the kettle on and bring you some warmer clothes, yeah?"

Harry just nods, stepping in, closing the curtain and letting the water warm his bones. 

He reaches for the familiar shampoo bottle, one that Nick had started buying last summer because it was what Harry used, and Nick had admitted reluctantly that he had missed the smell of it on his shirts and pillows in Harry's absence. He tries not to think about what that says about their unconventional friendship. He knows that Nick is affectionate with all of his friends, but Harry likes to think that he's the only one who Nick welcomes into his bed, his home, his _life_ the way he does with Harry.

He lingers in the shower until the water starts to run cold. Turning the warming lights back on, Harry towels himself dry and slowly pulls on the jogging bottoms and the thick, soft jumper Nick left for him. 

When he enters the bedroom, Nick is waiting for him, sipping his own tea while another steaming cup waits for Harry on the bedside table. He's grateful that Nick hasn't asked, doesn't expect him to jump right in to an explanation. Harry's still trying to process everything that happened. He takes a few careful sips of tea before placing the cup back on the table, waiting while Nick sets his own cup down and leans back on the pillows, opening his arms to Harry in invitation.

Harry shakes his hair out and then pushes it back out of his face. It's become a nervous habit and he knows logically that he's stalling, but he can't seem to stop himself from doing it. He takes a deep breath to try and settle himself before crawling across the bed and into Nick's waiting arms.

“He’s getting married,” he whispers. "He didn't want me to read about it in the papers." There’s probably a million things he could say right now, but Harry feels like he just needs to get this out. “Her name is Eleanor. His family loves her.”

Nick scoffs, “Does she know he likes boys?”

“I’m being serious, Grimmy.”

“So am I!” Nick chuckles, disbelieving as Harry gets up from the bed and begins to pace.

Harry’s mind is going around in circles, and the words start to fall from his lips, fast and furious as he tries to work out what it is exactly that he’s feeling. “I mean, was our entire relationship some sort of experiment for him? Like, did he ever love me at all? And what if he didn’t? Did I waste an entire year of my life only to find out I was never going to be enough?”

He looks at Nick, who’s gone still on the bed, and he’s not sure when he started crying, but Harry can feel the wet warmth of the tears on his cheeks. There’s a sob rising in his throat as he stands over where Nick is still watching him and asks, “When am I going to be _enough_ , Nick?”

He guesses that, in the end, that's what hurts the most, that Louis just hadn't loved him _enough_. It's not like he didn't know it before, and it's not like he's still in love with Louis or anything. He just.

He just wants to be _everything_ to someone.

He lets Nick pull him down into his lap, and Harry buries his face in Nick’s neck, his body shivering uncontrollably when Nick’s long arms wrap around him and pull him close. He’s still crying, but now that he’s started, Harry’s not sure he can stop. Nick has a hand in Harry’s hair, murmuring a litany of _He was crazy to ever let you go_ and _Don’t you know how amazing you are?_. It makes Harry want to cry harder, because on some level, these are the words he’s secretly been longing to hear from Nick, even if it’s not the way he’s sometimes imagined this scene playing out.

It’s almost involuntary, the way Harry lets his lips press a needy kiss just beneath Nick’s ear. He’s tried for so long to pretend he doesn’t feel this way, but Nick is _here_ and he’s comforting Harry with warm arms and soft words. He gives in to it, teasing Nick’s earlobe with the tip of his tongue before tugging it gently between his teeth. Nick gasps, holding Harry impossibly tighter, a shudder running through him that Harry can feel from head to toe. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Nick whispers, and Harry pulls away just far enough so he can look in his eyes. He never breaks Nick’s gaze as he leans in slowly, pressing a single, closed-mouth kiss to his lips.

Nick doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch or even blink, so Harry goes in again, a little less tentative this time. He begs him, _please, Nick_ , and kitten licks at the seam of Nick’s lips until he opens his mouth to Harry. When he feels Nick's tongue slide in alongside his own, Harry makes an undignified noise in the back of his throat. He doesn't have time to worry about that though, not when he starts sucking on Nick's tongue and Nick makes a pretty spectacular noise of his own.

He turns so that he's straddling Nick, the angle _so much better_ when he palms Nick's jaw with both hands and fires back with another searing kiss. Nick has one hand twisted in Harry's curls and the other is wrapped around the curve of his arse and he's squeezing hard enough that Harry's sure there will be bruises in the morning. He _hopes_ there will be, a tangible proof that he can cling to that this is real, that Nick wants him like this. Harry rolls his hips just a little, can feel that Nick is just as hard as he is, and it's good. It's _so fucking good_. He just.

He _wants_. He really fucking wants.

Harry reaches between them to grab the hem of his jumper and strips it off over his head. A tremor runs through him when Nick's hand traces up the line of his spine, and when he palms over the planes of Harry's chest, Harry can feel gooseflesh erupting from the base of his neck all the way down to where his toes are curling in the duvet. “Shirt. _Off_ ,” he murmurs, scrambling to tug Nick’s t-shirt up and over his shoulders, tossing it to the floor behind him once it’s off. 

Nick's hands are on him again, making Harry feel like he's burning up from the inside, his nerves alight and his skin tingling at every point of contact. He lets his head drop to Nick's shoulder, kissing and licking his way to his neck where he _bitesucklicks_ at Nick's pulse point until Nick is groaning and flipping them over on the bed so that Harry is pinned beneath him. He's got their hips slotted together, one leg firmly between Harry's and they're rutting against each other properly now, Nick's tongue in his mouth while Harry grips the slats in the headboard like his life depends on it.

And he just. God, he just feels so _alive_. He wants to do things with Nick that he never thought he'd be able to ask for, never thought he'd have the chance.

"Nick, _fuck_ , I want. Want you. _Please._ "

"Tell me," Nick murmurs against his heated skin as he takes one of Harry's nipples between his teeth and tugs gently, making Harry's hips buck uncontrollably as he laves over it with the flat of his tongue to ease the sting. "Whatever you want, Haz, just tell me."

Harry whines, a high, keening sound as he pulls Nick close enough that he can latch on to his mouth again. He grinds his hips against Nick's, taking whatever friction he can find. He's so hard right now that it's almost painful, but it's so good, this kind of pain. He just wants to _taketaketake_ until they're both spent. He runs his fingers through the back of Nick's hair, just long enough now for him to get a good grip on, and tells Nick _exactly_ what he wants.

"Want you to fuck me. Want your fingers in me, making me crazy ‘til I'm all stretched out for your cock. God, I want it, Nick. _Need_ it." He’s begging, and maybe he should be embarrassed, but Nick doesn't seem to be bothered by his filthy mouth, seems even more turned on if the way he groans and attacks Harry's neck is anything to go by. 

Nick crawls over him and starts fumbling through the drawer in his bedside table, presumably looking for lube and a condom. Harry takes the opportunity to strip off his joggers, kicking the fancy duvet off Nick's bed so it's down to just the sheets, and then flops back onto the fluffy pillows. He's just about ready to reach for his cock and give it a good squeeze, when Nick turns back and drops his supplies on the bed beside him. " _Fuck_ ," he mutters, taking in all of Harry's nakedness and jumps off the bed, scrambling to strip off the rest of his own clothes.

Nick climbs back on the bed then, settling himself between Harry's legs. He runs his hands up the length of Harry's thighs, leaning in to nuzzle the v of his hip, and he's so close (but nowhere near close enough) to where Harry wants, _needs_ him to be. Harry pushes up onto his elbows, the muscles in his stomach fluttering as Nick kisses and licks his way back up Harry’s chest. He bites at the corner of Harry’s jaw, noses at the sensitive skin just beneath his ear and whispers, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Nick. _Fuck_. Want this, _want you_ so much. _Please_.”

Nick taps him on the hip, gesturing for Harry to roll over, so he does, groaning when Nick pulls his hips up and off the bed so that his arse is on display. Nick’s hands are large and warm where he’s palming Harry’s cheeks, spreading him wide and teasing his hole with his thumbs. He should maybe be nervous, he thinks, since he’s never actually been on this end of things before. But this is _Nick_ , and it’s not like Harry’s a stranger to arse play; he’s gotten quite a bit of use out of the glass dildo that Nick bought him as a joke when he’d started seeing Taylor last fall. But Louis hadn't ever shown any interest in topping him and Harry hadn't been with another man like that since. He’s just. He’s really glad that it’s Nick is all.

All the thoughts in Harry’s head disappear pretty quickly the moment he feels Nick’s tongue trailing from his balls right up to his hole, swirling and teasing around the rim. “Oh my _fuck_ ,” he groans as Nick spreads him wider, working one of his thumbs in alongside his tongue. And it’s. _Fuck_ , it’s the most amazing thing ever, and his dick is so hard and he just wants to come but he doesn’t want this to ever end. 

Harry vaguely hears Nick flip the cap on the lube before there are two slick fingers massaging the rim of his hole. He tries to push back against them, but Nick teases him with just the tip of one long finger, pulling it out and then working it back in all the way. He pulls out again and goes back with two and it burns, but it’s so good and he cries out when Nick twists them just the right way. By the time Nick’s got three fingers in him, Harry is begging him, “Please Nick, want your cock. _Fuck_ , need it.”

“Yeah, Harry. Yeah, fuck.” Nick gently withdraws his fingers, and Harry immediately misses the feeling of being stuffed full. He doesn’t have to wait long though, as Nick quickly rolls on the condom and slicks himself up, teasing Harry’s hole with the head of his cock. “You sure you’re ready for me?” he asks, nudging just a bit until the head slides inside past the tight ring of muscle at the rim. 

The burn and stretch is both new and familiar at the same time, and Harry can’t suppress the whine that rises from his throat as Nick slides in to the hilt. It’s so much, _too much_ , everything he’s wanted and still not enough. He fumbles his hands in the sheets, trying to find purchase, needs a grip on something to keep him connected to this moment. Nick pulls him up so that Harry’s sitting in his lap with his legs on either side of Nick’s and brings Harry’s arm up to wrap it around the back of Nick’s neck. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs in Harry’s ear as Harry gasps out a litany of _NickNickNickOhGodNick_.

It’s good. Nick’s settled into a slow, grinding rhythm, buried so deep inside that Harry can feel the spark, that steady electric thrum with every subtle roll of his hips. He’s got both hands behind his head now, wrapped in Nick’s hair, with one of Nick’s hands splayed across Harry’s chest and the other wrapped around his cock, his long fingers stroking in time with the way his cockhead bumps against Harry’s prostate. It’s enough that after just a few more strokes Harry is crying out, come spurting from his dick and falling warm and slick over Nick’s hand. Nick follows him in his own orgasm as Harry rides out the aftershocks with each throb of Nick’s cock inside of him.

They both collapse on the bed, Nick carefully slipping out of Harry and tossing the condom off the side of the bed towards the bin. Harry’s already in that hazy, sleepy stage of post orgasmic bliss when Nick rolls off the bed and returns a few minutes later with a warm flannel. Harry hums as Nick gently wipes him clean, tossing the flannel in the laundry bin and then crawling back into bed. His arms immediately go around Harry, who burrows in so that his face is tucked into the space between Nick’s head and shoulder. 

“Talk?” Harry asks, his voice thick with the exhaustion that’s finally settled in.

“Sleep,” Nick replies. 

He does, and dreams of a future where Nick is really his.

*

When Harry opens his eyes, his first thought is that it's much too dark still for him to be awake. 

His second thought is that he's not as warm as he was when he fell asleep.

Everything from the previous night comes flooding back into his sleep-addled brain. Louis' phone call, showing up on Nick's doorstep in the middle of the night. Nick.

Oh God. He had sex with Nick. Good sex. Bloody _brilliant_ , if he's being honest. 

But now it's - he glances over at Nick's bedside table - nearly half five, if the alarm clock is correct, and Harry is alone in Nick's bed. He barely has time to process that when Nick comes stumbling out of the bathroom, pulling a plaid on over his favorite Dr Dre t-shirt.

"Morning, popstar," he says almost shyly when he looks up and realizes that Harry is awake. "I - my car is coming. Uh, in a few minutes. I didn't want to wake you."

"Ah. Trying to sneak out, then," he replies. It's meant to be teasing, but it sounds weak even to Harry's ears.

" _No_ , Harry. I just. I have the show and you seemed. I thought you could use the sleep."

"Yeah, of course," he mutters, staring at the ceiling. It's all true, but Harry knows that Nick enjoys talking about his feelings as much as he'd enjoy having a root canal without anaesthetic. And Harry can't help but feel like he's getting the brush-off.

"Will I see you later?" He hates the way it sounds, like he's begging for whatever scraps of affection Nick can spare. But the truth of it is, they need to talk about this, and the sooner the better as far as Harry's concerned.

Nick makes his way to the side of the bed, twisting the front of his hair with his fingers so it flops to the side and bites his lip. His brow furrows and he answers, "Lunch?"

Harry looks up at him, but Nick glances away quickly, toying with a loose thread on his shirt. "Yeah," Harry answers. "I think I can get away from rehearsals for a bit."

"Okay, then. Lunch it is." Nick leans forward and brushes Harry's fringe off his face, leaving a tender kiss on his forehead. It's such a typical thing for Nick to do, but everything feels loaded after what's happened, what Harry _let happen_ between them, and he's afraid of reading too much into the action. Nick whispers a _bye, Hazza_ , and then turns and walks out the door, leaving Harry wondering if he's maybe made the biggest mistake of his life.

*

They meet at their favorite sushi place. It’s Nick’s favorite because he swears they do the best tempura prawns in all of London. Harry likes it because it’s quiet and they can enjoy their meal relatively unrecognized.

When he arrives, Nick is already halfway through his first saki and munching on a green salad. Harry’s been thinking about this all morning. He knows now that he’s maybe a little bit in love with Nick and probably has been for quite some time. He also knows how Nick is likely to react to that tidbit of information, especially when he’s been left on his own all morning to analyze everything that happened last night. 

Harry’s barely sat down with his drink when Nick blurts out, “It was a mistake.” Harry just stares at him blankly, hoping beyond all hope that he can keep the sick feeling in his stomach at bay until he's somewhere safe. Nick looks slightly panicked, but seemingly oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil, because he just keeps _talking_.

"I'm not saying it wasn't great, because. It was. Brilliant. Obviously. I just. We're friends, right? And sex just ruins _everything_ and I'd hate to see that happen with us." 

"Right." There's really not much else Harry can say to that. Nick's obviously been practicing that little speech all morning, even though he looks pretty miserable now he's said it, sat across the table from Harry and shoving bits of lettuce in his mouth. Harry swallows down half his pint in one go, staring at the ring of condensation it left behind on the table. 

The thing is, he _knew_ this would happen, it's probably the biggest reason that Harry's never acted on his feelings for Nick. Nick likes his life to be organized into neat little piles of work and play, and whenever things get too serious he panics. Harry was really hoping things would be different this time.

He sets his glass down again and says, "Right. I think I should go. I'm still really tired and I'm supposed to meet up with the boys later. So. Yeah."

He drops a twenty pound note on the table and walks away. He doesn't look back.

*

It's the opening night of One Direction's second world tour, at London's O2 Arena, and Harry's feeling a little bit ill. Not in the stagefright way that he used to get before every show when the band was first starting out, but in the way that he knows that Nick is in the audience. At least, he's supposed to be. Harry had given him the tickets himself just last week, invited him to bring Fran and her kids backstage after the show. He's not sure how he feels about seeing Nick now, not sure where they stand, and it's got his stomach tied in knots. 

There's not much he can do about that, though. They've got a show to do, and Harry's nothing if not professional.

It's Zayn's first show with them, and he's amazing. Liam is beaming with pride, and Harry's so happy for him, really, it's just. He knows it's selfish of him, but he just wants a little bit of that happiness for himself. And it's hard, because he knows where Nick should be sitting if he's here, but he won't let himself look to that side of the stage because he doesn't want to feel the sting if he's not. It's getting harder to breathe with every sappy love song they sing, and Harry's angry with himself, _with Nick_ , because this stage is supposed to be his happy place, the one place in the world where he can let his worries and fears slip away.

By the time they are off stage and changed out of their sweaty clothes, all of their friends and family have been herded into the press room for a small after party. Harry is trying to put on a happy face. His mum and Robin and Gemma all came down for the show and he wants to enjoy his time with them. He hasn't told any of them, or his boys for that matter, about Louis' call or about what happened with Nick. He's pretty sure Niall knows that _something_ is going on though, because he keeps sending suspicious looks in Harry's direction every time he gives Nick the cold shoulder. 

He should maybe feel worse about the way he's treating Nick, but he doesn't know how to _act_ after what's happened the last couple of days. Things are different between them, unsteady and uncertain, yet Nick is here, chatting with Harry's family and friends like nothing's changed. The anger he felt earlier is coming back, until finally he just can't stand it anymore and takes Nick by the wrist and excuses them both, dragging Nick behind him to the deserted dressing room down the corridor.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in there?" 

Nick has the _actual_ nerve to look taken aback. "What do you mean, Harry? I was just catching up with your mum; I haven't seen her in ages. I was under the impression that you wanted me here. You did invite me, after all."

"That was before," Harry spits. "Before you tried to pretend like what happened between us didn't mean anything." God, he feels pathetic. It's just another reminder of why he tried for so long to ignore his heart.

"I never said it didn't mean anything, Hazza. I just think. I mean. Why does it have to mean _everything_?" 

"Because it _does_ , and you should know that better than anyone." Harry's never felt so angry and so defeated at the same time. He wishes more than anything that he and Nick were on the same page. "You know, the worst part is that as soon as it happened you _bailed_ on me, and I knew you would. _I knew it._ "

Nick looks completely shocked. "Harry. I - we both agreed it was a mistake."

Harry huffs out a laugh, trying to fight back the burning in his eyes. "Biggest mistake of my life."

"What do you want from me, Harry?"

"Not a damn thing."

Nick turns and walks to the door, but stops just shy of reaching for the handle. "You know," he says turning back to Harry but not meeting his eyes. "I never planned to sleep with you. I just. You kissed me. And you looked at me with your floppy hair and those puppy dog eyes, all 'why didn't he love me?' and 'please make it better'. How was i supposed to say no to you?"

"Wait," Harry says, incredulous. "Are you saying you took _pity_ on me?"

"No. I'm saying that you needed me and I was there for you."

Harry chuckles humorlessly, twisting his hand up through the messy quiff that Lou insists on, even though Harry prefers it the old way. "You know what, Grimmy? Fuck you."

He doesn't say anything else, just leaves Nick standing there as he walks away.

*

Harry’s busy with the UK tour. And it’s good. To be busy. He hardly thinks about Nick at all.

He doesn’t think about Nick the first night after the show when he goes home and drinks a bottle of wine by himself and falls asleep on his sofa. He doesn’t think about Nick even once when he goes to Starbucks for coffee and pastries for his family the next morning. 

The problem is that their first few shows are in London, so he can’t really get any _distance_. He tries to focus on the performances, but it’s hard when he’s not on stage. It’s hard when all of his friends are Nick’s friends too, and he just wants to go down to the pub for a few drinks. He ends up going to Funky Buddha with Liam and Niall on their night off because he knows there is no chance of ever seeing Nick there. But he’s doing okay, really. Until the messages start. 

The first one comes on the night before One Direction leaves for Ireland. He doesn’t see the text when it comes through because he’s left his phone to charge while he finishes packing. He notices later that he has new messages, and starts scrolling through his inbox. There’s one from his mum, wishing him a safe trip, and another from Liam, reminding Harry to pack an extra jumper, since they’ll be staying on in Mullingar an extra day before coming back to London. The last message he comes to is from Nick. Harry’s first instinct is to delete it, but then there’s this little voice in the back of his head, the one that won’t quite let him give up hope that Nick will get his shit together. 

Harry sighs, steeling himself as he opens the text. There’s actually three of them, and in typical Nick fashion, he manages to say a whole lot of nothing at all.

_Aimee and Ian are soooooo domestic, it’s sickening. *gag*_

_Did I mention I’m thinking about getting a dog? I think Aimee is tired of sharing custody of Thurston :(_

_Safe travels, popstar. Maybe I could ring you sometime? It’s strange not having you lounging about my flat_

Harry doesn’t text him back.

*

The messages continue coming in over the course of the next two weeks. Just random tidbits of information about Nick's day or people he's observed on the street. He never fails to text comments about pap pictures he's seen of Harry out and about, whether partying with the boys in Glasgow or greeting fans in Sheffield. 

It's frustrating for Harry. He's trying his best not to think of Nick and all the hopes Harry had for them, and there's Nick, obviously keeping tabs on him. He doesn't understand, doesn't know what it means, or if it means anything at all. He still hasn't replied to any of Nick's texts, but he reads them all, sometimes repeatedly, trying to find anything that might let him hold on to that little spark of hope that he's been carrying all this time.

They're on the tour bus, halfway between one city and the next when Harry's phone rings. He's curled up in his bunk alone while the other boys are watching a film in the lounge. When his phone lights up with Nick's face on the screen he panics; does he answer or not? He hasn't reached out to Nick at all, hasn't given him any encouragement, yet he still sends Harry as many as a dozen texts a day. Maybe Nick calling him is the sign Harry's been waiting for.

It's just about to go to voicemail when Harry clicks the answer button. "Hey, Nick."

"Hey. Harry. I, uh, wasn't really expecting you to answer." Nick sounds genuine, and Harry feels a momentary pang of guilt for the way he's been acting. "How are you? You alright?"

Harry tries to shake off the anxiety that's settled in his gut. "Yeah, I'm good. Just, you know, on the bus. Watching a film with the boys," he lies.

"Right, right. How are the boys? Liam and Zayn are still happy and in love, I presume? Niall find himself a bird yet?"

"What do you want, Nick?" The panic he'd felt only moments before is quickly giving way to the anger Harry can feel rising in his chest, and he's losing his patience.

Nick sighs into the phone, and Harry can picture the way he's probably twisting a hand through his hair, can hear the soft sound of the telly in the background, most likely the Nigella reruns he records so that he can watch them in bed at night. "I guess I just. I miss you, and I thought. Are you going to spend some time with your family after the last show? Because I'll be on holiday, but my trip to LA fell through so I thought I might head to my parents for a few days, and if we're both going to be in the area, maybe we could get together?"

Harry has always thought there wasn't anything he didn't know about Nick Grimshaw, took pride in the fact that they kept each other's secrets. But ever since that night, he has no idea what's going on in Nick's head. The distance between them has continued to grow, and Harry's never felt it more acutely than he does right now.

"I'm sorry, Nick. But I won't be your consolation prize." It takes every ounce of strength he has to say goodbye and hang up the phone.

*

 

5\. April, 2013

_"And then we fell in love."_

*

Nick Grimshaw has a lot of friends. He has friends that he parties with, friends that he confides in, and friends that he brunches with on Sundays. He’s never had another friend quite like Harry Styles, though.

He’s been thinking about it a lot lately, remembering back to the first time they met. Harry seemed so young at eighteen, fresh-faced and naive in a way that Nick had never really been. He knew Harry was special, even then.

He stares aimlessly out across the back garden. He'd gone to his mum and dad's for a few days, but he'd been miserable, and they had started to ask questions that Nick couldn't answer. How was he supposed to explain what had happened when he still doesn't understand it himself?

Nick sighs, heavy and deep, wondering to himself if Harry hates him for being such a twat. Maybe he should. Nick wouldn't blame him. 

Just then, he hears the front door open as Aimee calls his name from the hallway. Nick pushes himself up out of his chair and heads inside just in time to trip over an excited Thurston as Ian closes the door behind them.

"Hiya," Nick says with a little wave. He can see in both their faces that he looks as pathetic as he feels, and he crumples just a little on the inside.

Stupid, happy friends. Hmph.

Aimee wastes no time expressing her opinion. "You've been a sad-sack for ages, love, and I've tried to be understanding, even though you still won't tell me what happened. But it's gone on too long. Time to tell Miss Aimee what -"

"I slept with Harry," he blurts out before he even realizes he's opened his mouth to speak. He slaps both of his hands over his mouth, looks up and sees that they're both staring at him, slack jawed, the shock of what he's just admitted clear on both of their faces.

"Holy _shit_ ," Ian whispers.

Aimee glares at him over her her shoulder before pulling Nick over to the sofa to sit down beside her. "We were wondering how long it would take for something like this to happen."

" _What?_ " Because, really. Did everyone see this coming but him?

"It's okay, Grimmy. You can be really thick sometimes," she says soothingly. Aimee has an innate ability to both kick Nick in the ass and calm him down at the same time. There's a reason she's one of his best friends. “So, when exactly _did_ this happen?"

Nick scratches his head, runs his fingers through the front of his hair, leaving it to fall messily to one side. Maybe he should cut it. Harry always liked it better on the shorter side. "Um. Right before he started tour?" 

"You had sex with Harry Styles and you've kept it a _secret_ for a _month_?" Leave it to Ian to take the piss while Nick is in the middle of a bloody crisis.

Aimee throws Ian another look that clearly says 'not helping'. She turns back to Nick, takes both of his hands in hers and asks with complete seriousness, "How was it?"

Nick drops his face into his hands with an exasperated groan. He'll definitely be more careful in the future when choosing his friends.

"Oh, now, come on. Let's talk this out, yeah? I can't help if I don't have all the dirty details!"

Nick looks back up to see her grinning knowingly at him. "Fine. It was good. _Amazing_ , if you must know. And, god, he's just so _responsive_ and -"

Ian stands from the chair and heads to the kitchen, muttering something about not needing to know quite so much about Nick's sex life, but Aimee's still watching Nick with rapt attention. Nick flops back against the cushions and throws a hand over his face. "He was lovely and I've gone and ruined _everything_."

He might be acting overly dramatic, but he thinks he's allowed. Because really, this is _Harry_ , and he won't even _speak_ to Nick and Nick doesn't know how to deal with that. He curses the day his life turned into a bloody rom-com.

"Am I missing something?" Aimee asks. "Because I'm still not sure how the fuck you think you 'ruined everything' just by sleeping with him."

And this is what Nick's been dreading; the part where he has to admit that he acted like a twat. "Yeah. I might have told him it was a mistake," he answers, his voice going up at the end like it's a question. 

"You _what_!?"

"Now, don't look at me like that," Nick exclaims in a futile act of defense. "You know how I get. I freaked out and tried to sneak off to work, but he woke up and I had no clue what he was thinking. I just...lost my head. Anyways, we met for lunch, I said it was a mistake, and he agreed with me."

Aimee sighs, looking Nick straight in the eyes. "Did he _really_ agree with you, or do you just _think_ he did?"

"I -" he starts, but he's not sure what to say, tries to remember everything Harry said to him that day. Come to think of it, he hadn't said much, just made his excuses and left Nick sitting at the table before their food had even arrived. The memory leaves him feeling hollow, a dull ache in his chest where he can feel his heart beating. 

Other memories start to flood his mind. Harry barking with laughter at whatever ridiculous thing Nick's just told him, and the night they stayed up drinking after the Brits even though Nick had to work in the morning, eventually dragging Harry along with him, still in his suit from the night before. Hours spent curled up on Nick's sofa watching cooking shows, even though Harry owned his very own mini-mansion less than a kilometer away. Late night phone calls from America, Paris, Belgium, even Africa when Harry was there with the lads for Red Nose Day. Christmas at Nick's family home and warm weather barbeques in Holmes Chapel with Anne, Robin, and Gemma. He has so many memories with Harry, he sometimes forgets that their lives weren't always intertwined.

He lets himself remember the way it felt to kiss Harry, to hold him in his arms and make love to him, because he realizes now that that's what it was, thinks maybe Harry feels ( _felt?_ ) the same. Maybe Nick's known all along but was just too afraid to open his eyes and _see_. 

"I. I'm in love with him. I'm in love with Harry."

Aimee's smile dawns bright across her face. "So, what are you going to _do_ about it?"

Nick looks at her, a little shell-shocked still and says, "I think I'm going to Manchester."

Ian pops around the corner, iPhone in hand. "I'll check the train schedule!"

Looking at Ian fondly, Aimee takes Nick by the hand, pulling him up off the sofa and toward his bedroom. "I'll help you pack," she chirps.

Less than two hours later, Nick boards the train to Manchester, a small duffle flung over his shoulder. Ian had secured his ticket _and_ booked him a room for a couple of nights, telling Nick with a knowing wink that he could thank him later. Nick thinks maybe Ian is being overly optimistic, but if things don't turn out the way he hopes they will, at least Nick will be able to hide out for a bit before he has to face the rest of the world.

He doesn't have a plan at all, he's not even sure Harry will agree to see him. Now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't have a show ticket or a stage pass, so how is he supposed to get anywhere _near_ Harry?

He's halfway through his journey when Nick decides to call Niall, thankful that Harry programmed his number on Nick's phone last year. Nick has always liked Niall, appreciates his sense of humor and the way he doesn't ever seem to get too chuffed up about anything. Hopefully he'll be willing to help, because Nick really doesn't have any other options.

It rings three or four times before he hears Niall's voice over the line. "Grimmy, mate, how the hell are ye? I hope yer callin' to tell me why Harry's been such a miserable fucker lately."

"Yeah, about that," Nick sighs, twisting his free hand through the front of his hair. "I did something really stupid. I mean _stupid_. I'd like to try and fix it, but I need your help, because he won't take my calls or answer my texts. I need to see him."

"Just tell me what ya need me to do."

*

Nick's hotel isn't far from the train station, so he goes there first, dropping his bag on the king-sized bed and splashing some cold water from the tap on his face in a last ditch attempt to calm his nerves. This is maybe one of the scariest things he's ever going to do, laying his heart out for Harry and not knowing for sure how he'll react. He knows, though, that he has to do it or risk losing Harry forever, which is not an option. The last month without him has been the most miserable time of Nick's life, and that's saying a lot.

Nick washes his hands and splashes his face one more time before toweling off. He grabs a jumper from his bag, the red and blue striped one that Harry's always liked on him, and pulls his denim jacket on over it, grabbing his phone and room key as he heads out the door.

He's just climbed into the back of a cab when he receives a text from Niall asking how far away he is. Nick shoots back that he'll be about fifteen minutes, then leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.

All he can see is Harry. His green eyes, his smile, those _ridiculous_ dimples. He can almost feel the warmth of Harry's body, the way he'd tucked in against Nick's chest that night, tangling their legs together like it was the most natural thing in the world. _Maybe it is,_ Nick thinks. He's suddenly second guessing every look, every touch that's passed between them, wondering just how long they've been doing the intricate dance that's led them here, with Harry angry and Nick desperate to make it right. 

He realizes belatedly that his cab has been sitting in traffic for a while. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, Nick sees that he has several more texts from Niall. He flips through to the most recent.

_Grimmy mate! What's goin on? Zayn's nearly done his set!_

_I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be there soon. Don’t let him go onstage until I’ve seen him._

_Pauly’s waiting for you round the back, mate. Don’t fuck this up!_

Nick throws a twenty pound note at the driver and exits the cab, taking off on foot in the direction of the arena. The closer he gets, the thicker the crowd is. There are teenage girls _everywhere_ , and Nick finds himself shoving his way through the throngs of people, picking up his pace whenever space allows. He rounds the corner and heads straight for where he knows the equipment trucks should be parked and sees Paul, the burly head of One Direction’s security team, waiting by a closed door, single-handedly fending off a hoard of excited fans. 

Paul reaches out a hand, taking Nick by the arm and shuffling him through the door. He slips a pass around Nick’s neck and pushes him in the right direction without so much as a word. Nick stops short when he hears Niall’s laughter coming from a room at the end of the corridor. _Harry’s in there_ , he thinks. _I’m really doing this._ Nick puts one foot in front of the other, speeding up as he gets closer, and bursts through the door.

Every eye in the room has turned to look at Nick. The boys and their band, Harry’s family, and several other faces that Nick recognizes. Everyone is staring at him, but he only has eyes for Harry.

Harry, who’s looking at Nick with a mix of anger and confusion in his eyes, and something else that looks a little bit like hope. He's beautiful, and it makes Nick's heart flutter in his chest.

“Well. I think we’ll all just...leave you two alone,” Niall announces, herding the other guests toward the door. He stops in front of Nick and whispers, “Remember what I said. Don’t fuck it up, mate.” Then they're all gone and it’s just Nick and Harry.

“Why are you here?” Harry asks, his arms crossed tightly over his chest in defense and a scowl on his face. 

Nick takes a deep breath and swallows hard, taking one step and then two so that he’s standing directly in front of Harry. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he starts. “And the thing is, I...I love you.”

The frown on Harry’s face gets deeper and there’s a blush rising high in his cheeks. He’s angry. “Really. You love me? What do you expect me to say to that?”

“How about, you love me too.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, gripping the hair on the back of his head as he turns away from Nick. “That’s not how it works,” he mutters, pacing back and forth.

“Then how does it work?” Nick asks, closing the distance between them again.

“I don’t know, but not like this.” Harry doesn’t look quite so angry anymore, just sad and a little lost, if Nick’s being honest. He’s absolutely the most beautiful thing Nick has ever laid eyes on. He meets Nick’s gaze, his green eyes blazing and says, “You can’t just come in here and tell me you love me and expect everything to be okay. It’s not okay. _We’re_ not okay.”

“I know that, Harry.”

Harry rubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath. His hands are trembling slightly, and Nick wants nothing more than to reach out and pull him in, give him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Then why are you here, Nick? What do you want from me?”

It’s an honest question. Harry deserves the most honest answer Nick can give him.

“I’m here because...I love the way you laugh, loud and unapologetic, at every one of my stupid jokes. I love the way it takes you an hour to tell a story that would take the average person five minutes. I love the way you do that _stupid_ thing with your hair, where you brush it all forward and then swoop it back off your face, only to have it look _exactly_ the same as it did before. And none of this is because I’m lonely, and it’s _not_ because I’m almost thirty.”

Harry’s mouth turns up with a hint of a grin. “You’re only twenty-eight.”

“I said _almost_ ,” Nick teases. He takes another step closer, reaches out to lightly brush his thumb over the barely visible freckles on Harry’s cheek. “I’m _here_ because...when you realize you want to spend the _rest of your life_ with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

He hears Harry's breath catch, watches his adam's apple bob when he swallows hard around the words in his throat.

"This is just like you, you know," Harry says with no heat in his voice. "Just when I think I've got my head on straight, you come in here and say all these _things_ , and you just. You make it _impossible_ for me to hate you. And I really tried to hate you." 

Harry's voice has gone soft and his eyes are watery, but there's a small smile playing at his lips. Nick does reach for his hand this time, slides his fingers between Harry's and pulls him closer. He wraps his other arm around Harry's waist, resting their foreheads together. 

"I'm so sorry," Nick says quietly, reverently. "And I will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, if you'll have me." He can't believe he's said so much to Harry; it's unlike Nick to let himself be vulnerable to anyone. But this is Harry and he _knows_ Nick, has fought his way through every wall of defense Nick had spent a lifetime building to protect himself. He doesn't need them anymore. Not as long as he has Harry.

"You're a twat, you know that?" Harry chuckles, bringing his hands up to either side of Nick's neck and brushing his thumbs over the pulse point there.His voice is soft, _happy_ even, when he speaks again. "But you're mine. And I really do love you."

There's a knock on the door, and it opens just a crack. "Hey Haz," Liam calls. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need to be onstage in about five minutes."

Nick chuckles, tightening his grip on Harry's waist. There's a smile on Harry's face when he replies, "Be there in a moment, Li."

When the door closes, Harry leans in and presses his mouth to Nick's. There's no heat behind it, no intent, but Harry's lips are warm and just a little bit chapped, and the action sends a shiver down Nick's spine. He hums contentedly and nods when Harry pulls back and asks, "You'll stay and watch the show, yeah?"

"Of course."

"And after?"

Nick smiles. "Thanks to Ian, I have a room for the next two nights, and I don't plan to let you out of my sight for the next week." He kisses Harry again, murmuring _I love you_ into his skin. 

Blushing, Harry takes Nick by the hand and leads him to the door. "Let's go; I've got a show to do."

"Lead the way, popstar." Nick thinks he'd follow Harry to the ends of the earth, if he asked.

 

*

_British Vogue, February 2015_

"Six months later we were living together."

"In all fairness, though," Harry says, "I would have moved in much sooner, had I not been away on tour. We'd always spent most of our time at Nick's place anyway."

When asked if they have any plans to marry, Harry smiles shyly, reaching over to squeeze Nick's hand, but it’s the latter who answers.

“We’d like to, eventually. But with Harry’s schedule right now, it’s difficult.”

“We want to do it right,” Harry replies. “Like, proper; our friends and families there with us. Our mums would never forgive us if we didn’t.”

It’s hard not to notice the look that passes between them; devious, as if they have a secret they are unwilling to share. It’s also obvious how much they adore each other, and it’s clear that above all else, their friendship is still the foundation that holds them together.

 _And they lived happily ever after..._ THE END.


End file.
